


When All is Said and Done

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multi, Reconciliation, Rekindled Relationship, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty years after they graduated from University, Les Amis have a reunion. A lot's changed, but then again, some things never change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When All is Said and Done

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the ABBA song of the same name, which seemed appropriate given the subject matter.
> 
> There is the tiniest bit of smut but really nothing happens which is why I didn't rate this Explicit - if you think the rating should be bumped up, let me know.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: if you recognize it, I don't own it, with the sole exception being my typos.

“And you can guarantee that he’s not going to be there?”

It took more effort than Jehan could say to not roll his eyes, and Combeferre stifled a laugh, turning to the next page in the newspaper. “I can promise you exactly what I know, that Enjolras has not RSVP-ed that he’s coming, which most likely means that he’s forgotten about it. You know what he’s like when it comes to these sort of things.”

Grantaire was quiet for a long moment, then huffed a sigh that crackled over Jehan’s cellphone. “Fine, if he’s not going to be there, I’ll come. But you and Combeferre better drive me because I am sure as hell not going to be sober enough to drive myself home.”

Combeferre pulled Jehan into his lap and Jehan tried to keep a straight face as Combeferre kissed his neck. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem, Grantaire. Combeferre has to teach the next day, so he’s going to be DD-ing as is.”

Again, Grantaire was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his tone was wry. “Can you believe that we’re over 40 years old and still having conversations about who’s DD-ing? My how things have not changed.”

“For you, maybe,” Jehan allowed, smiling as Combeferre’s hand slipped underneath his shirt. “Now, if the question of whether you’re coming to the reunion or not is settled, my husband is getting handsy and I’d like to have at least a makeout session with him before he has to go in for his first class.”

Grantaire sighed heavily. “You both disgust me. You’ve been married for, like, fifteen years now, and you’re still grossly in love. I hate you both.”

Jehan kissed Combeferre before saying into his phone, “Yes, well, sorry your own marriage didn’t work out and lasted less than a year, but I have to tend to mine now. Goodbye.” He hung up and tossed the phone on the table, wrapping his arms around Combeferre’s neck. “Now, where were we?”

Combeferre laughed and kissed Jehan back. “Well, I believe we were about to—”

He was interrupted by his phone, which dinged with a text message. Jehan groaned against Combeferre’s earlobe. “Can’t you just ignore it?”

“It’ll be just a moment,” Combeferre said, shifting Jehan in his lap to grab his phone off the table. He glanced quickly at the text, and then froze. “Oh. Shit.”

“What?” Jehan asked. “What happened?”

Combeferre handed him the phone. “It’s from Enjolras. He’s out. And apparently, he’s coming to the reunion.”

Jehan took a deep, steadying breath, and carefully set Combeferre’s phone on the table. “We will deal with that later,” he said firmly. “For the moment, we are going back to bed and are going to forget about twenty-year old drama between two of our best friends, got it?”

“Sir, yes sir,” Combeferre said, laughing, and he eagerly followed Jehan into the bedroom.

* * *

 

Twenty years almost to the day since graduation, and among their friends, the thing that had changed least was how loud they could be when all together, and how much alcohol they could put away. Grantaire laughed loudly at something Bahorel was saying, tucking a salt-and-pepper curl behind his ear as he did.

They were all older, all a little grayer, and in Bahorel’s case, a little balder. The jokes had already been made at the ‘B’ names in the group being bald, but Bossuet had welcomed Bahorel good-naturedly to the bald club. Of course, Bossuet also joked that, as a stay-at-home dad, if he had had any hair, it would have been all gray, which Jehan, who had grayed early, took offense to (though Combeferre, whose sandy hair was pretty much untouched by the years, whispered in his ear that he loved Jehan as a silver fox). Musichetta just laughed at Bossuet and said that he should switch with her for a day, and she’d stay with their kids while he worked as an executive chef at a high end restaurant. As was his nature, Joly settled the debate by kissing first Bossuet, then Musichetta, then proclaiming that being a cardiothoracic surgeon was probably the most stressful job of any of them.

Feuilly asked Combeferre and Jehan eagerly about life in academia, and they in turn asked him how the factory was going and how he was enjoying upper-level management, having worked his way up from the factory floor. Life for Feuilly seemed to be going well, though he did admit that it was nice to be away from the wife and kids for the night.

Courfeyrac sat in the corner, nursing a whiskey neat, feeling a little mournful as he always did that he didn’t have anything new or exciting to report on. After he and Jehan broke up at the end of undergrad, he had gone to law school, gotten an excellent job at a law firm, and gotten married, everything that was expected from him. Two years into the marriage, with his daughter only a year old, everything had fallen apart. Now, he was still working for the law firm, though as a senior partner now, and seemed more married to his work than Enjolras ever was, having gotten divorced a long tim ago.

Speaking of Enjolras, the absence of the blond-haired man was keenly felt, and had been for years. They had all had the best intentions of keeping Les Amis going after undergrad, but then Enjolras had moved across the ocean for grad school and fell out of touch, and without him there (and without school to keep them all together), things just sort of fell apart.

“This is nice,” Grantaire told Bahorel, who nodded and clinked his beer bottle against Grantaire’s glass of whiskey in agreement. “I honestly didn’t expect to be enjoying myself, but then again I should’ve known I’d be hanging out with the underachieving, divorcée portion of the crowd.”

Bahorel rolled his eyes. “Speak for yourself,” he muttered, taking a swig of his beer. “You’re actually pulling in decent money from your art nowadays, whereas I am still working in the public defender’s office and making a public servant’s salary.”

Grantaire nudged Bahorel and rolled his eyes as well. “Don’t even pretend you don’t love it. You know you could have gone and worked with Courfeyrac at any time. You love it there, and you’re actually putting the law degree that took you — what, five years? — to get to good use.”

Courfeyrac raised his voice over the fray to ask loudly, “Did I hear my name?”

“We’re having a meeting of the divorced members of our friend group club,” Grantaire called back to him. “You should come join us.”

Shaking his head, Courfeyrac drained his drink and had just stood up to join them when the front door swung open and, to everyone’s utter shock, Enjolras stepped inside. “Hey, everyone,” Enjolras said, almost nervously.

Grantaire dropped the glass he was holding, not even noticing when it shattered on the floor. “Oh,  _shit_ ,” Jehan muttered as Combeferre stood, weaving through the room to reach Enjolras and pull him into a hug.

“Hey, Enjolras,” Combeferre said, his voice light. “It’s great to see you.”

Those words were enough to make almost everyone else swarm out of their seats and towards Enjolras, who looked torn between laughing and being uncomfortable. Grantaire didn’t move, sitting frozen in his seat, until Enjolras looked through the crowd directly at him, at which point Grantaire bolted towards the kitchen.

Enjolras made as if to follow him, then stopped, and Jehan rolled his eyes and nudged Combeferre. “We’re ending this tonight,” he hissed into his husband’s ear. “I am  _not_  going through twenty more years of those two dancing around each other and their unnecessary drama.”

“I agree,” Combeferre muttered in return, though he raised an eyebrow at Jehan. “What do you suggest?”

Jehan’s jaw clenched determinedly. “Take Enjolras upstairs into the guest bedroom. I’ll get Grantaire up there if it’s the last thing I do.”

* * *

 

Once Jehan disappeared into the kitchen and Combeferre all but yanked Enjolras upstairs, the rest of the group drifted back into the living room, settling back into their conversations. Bahorel and Courfeyrac sat down next to each other and sighed in unison. “Drama, huh?” Bahorel said, taking another swig of his beer.

“Drama,” Courfeyrac agreed. “Who needs it, right?”

Bahorel glanced sideways at him and laughed. “Yeah, right. When was the last time you got laid, man? That used to be half of what you did during undergrad, I swear to god.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “You’re one to talk.” He looked down at his empty glass and shrugged. “It’s hard, you know? Izzy is twelve years old — she’s gonna be a teenager next year, for christ’s sake! — and dating while balancing that and working as much as I do…it’s a lot, man.”

Leaning in, Bahorel raised an eyebrow at him. “Who said anything about dating? I asked when the last time was that you got  _laid_.”

“Well, when was the last time  _you_  got laid?” Courfeyrac asked waspishly.

Bahorel shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “It’s been way too long,” he said, a little mournfully. “Like,  _way_  too long.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “I feel you, man.” He glanced mournfully at the kitchen, which, judging from the shouting within, was still occupied. “Who decided to put all the booze in the kitchen?”

“We could do something to take your mind off it,” Bahorel suggested.

Frowning, Courfeyrac asked, “What did you have in mind?” Bahorel just grinned at him, and Courfeyrac’s eyes widened. “What, are you serious? You want to…”

“…to take care of our mutual need at the moment?” Bahorel said, still grinning. “I mean, why the hell not? We used to do this all the time, right? I mean, not with each other, but still. And isn’t half of tonight about trying to relive our glory days?”

Though Courfeyrac still looked torn, he was starting to smile a little, and he shrugged and asked, “What, you want to slip upstairs and get busy while everyone here is waiting for the fireworks between Enjolras and Grantaire?”

Bahorel’s grin widened. “Get busy?” he asked, snickering. “Is that what you’re calling it, really?” Courfeyrac just shrugged, and Bahorel stood, setting his empty beer bottle down. “Look, I’m going to head upstairs. If you want to join me, follow after in a few minutes. If you don’t, I understand, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

True to his word, he headed up the stairs, leaving Courfeyrac sitting in still mostly-shocked silence. He glanced down at his empty glass and around at his friends, where Feuilly was deep in conversation about children with Bossuet while Musichetta and Joly were giggling and kissing. This may be the worst idea of all time.

It also sounded like the best idea he’d heard in a long time.

Within a minute he was upstairs, heading down the hallway to find which room Bahorel had disappeared into, when he heard Bahorel growl, “Oh, thank  _fuck_ ”, before grabbing him by the lapel and pulling him into the room, slamming the door behind him and shoving him against the wall and kissing him fiercely.

* * *

 

Inside the kitchen, Grantaire was breathing heavily, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest, glaring at Jehan. “You  _said_  he wasn’t going to be here,” he snarled, for the third time in as many minutes.

Jehan threw his hands up in the air. “Well, I’m sorry. He was released from jail early, and I didn’t tell you about it, ok? But maybe you should use this as an opportunity to actually  _talk_  to him and work out some of the baggage you both have been dragging around for the past twenty fucking years!”

Grantaire stared at Jehan. “He was in jail?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet.

Staring at him blankly, Jehan nodded. “Yeah, he was convicted for unlawful assembly, inciting civil unrest, a whole host of things. Did you seriously not know that?”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “No. I thought…I thought he just stopped calling me. We…when he went to Europe, we fought and we didn’t…we didn’t really keep in touch after that. How long was he in jail?”

Jehan shrugged. “I think he was sentenced to fifteen years? But he was released for good behavior. And trust me, I was as shocked as anyone that he got ‘good behavior’.” He hesitated, biting his lip, and said softly, “He’s changed, Grantaire. And so have you. It’s been a long twenty years.”

Nodding slowly, Grantaire reached out and grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the counter, taking two deep swigs before setting it back down and taking a deep breath. “Ok,” he said slowly. “I’m ready to talk to him.”

* * *

 

Bahorel and Courfeyrac kissed for a long moment, exploring each other’s mouths and fighting for dominance, and then Bahorel shoved Courfeyrac towards the bed. “Take your clothes off,” he growled.

“Wow, forty-two years old and your foreplay skills are worse than a teenager’s,” Courfeyrac teased, though he eagerly pulled his shirt off, shimmying out of his pants and pulling his boxers off without much hesitation.

Bahorel’s eyes darkened, and he shucked his own clothes just as quickly. “Forgive me for being a little eager,” he muttered, clambering onto the bed after Courfeyrac, straddling him as they kissed deeply. “It’s been a  _long_ time.”

Courfeyrac laughed and tilted his chin up, allowing Bahorel access to his neck, which Bahorel kissed and sucked on, making Courfeyrac shiver with desire. “Well, I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure it starts like this,” he murmured, trailing his fingers down Bahorel’s chest and stomach. “And I’m pretty sure the next step is this—”

His fingers closed around Bahorel’s cock, and Bahorel’s back arched as he groaned loudly. Courfeyrac grinned as he lazily dragged his hand up and down Bahorel’s cock, swiping his thumb across the slit. “Yeah, pretty sure you got the next step down,” Bahorel said breathlessly, and he bent to kiss Courfeyrac again, bucking his hips slowly and teasingly against Courfeyrac so that their cocks rubbed against each other.

Courfeyrac moaned and kissed him back. “Why the fuck didn’t we do this earlier?”

Bahorel shrugged and bent to swirl his tongue almost languidly around one of Courfeyrac’s nipples. “Well, you were dating Jehan for the longest time, and before that, when you were single I was fucking around with Feuilly…”

Making a face, Courfeyrac pulled Bahorel back up to him, kissing him soundly. “Let’s not talk about the past.” He paused, then asked carefully, “Are, uh, are you topping or am I?”

“That depends,” Bahorel said, kissing down Courfeyrac’s jaw. “Do you have a condom?”

“Condom?” Courfeyrac repeated vacantly, then he groaned and rested his forehead against Bahorel’s shoulder. “Oh. Fuck. No, I don’t. And you don’t either?”

Bahorel chuckled and shook his head, kissing Courfeyrac’s cheek a little breathlessly. “No. Fuck. I didn’t…I mean, I wasn’t planning on this, you know?”

For a moment, Courfeyrac hesitated, then he offered, a little awkwardly, “I mean, I’m clean, so we could…”

Shaking his head again, Bahorel said honestly, “On any other day, I totally would, but, uh, do you have lube? Because if not…”

Courfeyrac groaned and flopped back against the bed, looking almost mournfully down at his cock, which had softened almost as fast as it had hardened earlier. “Oh god, this is a disaster,” he said, laughing slightly. “I used to be so fucking  _good_  at this.”

Bahorel laughed as he lay down next to him. “Tell me about it. The guys and girls that I used to fuck…What happened to us? Did we get old? Is that it?”

“Nah,” said Courfeyrac, leaning over to kiss Bahorel gently. “We’ll never get old. We just got forgetful of what the good times were like.”

Bahorel made a humming noise in agreement and kissed Courfeyrac back. “Well, you may say we’ve forgotten the good times, but as much of a disaster as this has been, it’s been a pretty damn good time to me.”

Courfeyrac laughed as he sat up, trying in vain to force his curls into some semblance of order. “We’re still good, though, right? Still friends?”

Laughing as well, Bahorel grabbed his boxers off the floor and pulled them on. “Of course. Friends. It would take a hell of a lot more than this to ruin that for any of us.”

* * *

 

As soon as Grantaire appeared in the doorway of the room, Combeferre cleared his throat and muttered, “I’ll leave you to it”, disappearing out the door with Jehan.

Neither Grantaire nor Enjolras paid him any mind, instead staring at each other, drinking each other in, having not really been in each other’s presence in over a decade. “So,” Grantaire said, softly, leaning against the wall. “I hear you’re now a convicted felon.”

Enjolras smiled slightly and glanced down at the ground. “Technically I was a convicted felon before I met you, but it was on my juvenile record, which was sealed.” He cocked his head slightly and said honestly, “You look good.”

Grantaire half-smiled and glanced nervously at him before looking away. “So do you.” And Enjolras did. His age suited him — what had previously been hard angles were now softened into creases and folds that told the story of his life. His golden curls might be a little faded now, but still shone in the light as much as they ever did. And his eyes — they were the same as they had always been, flashing with blue fire. “Jail apparently suits you.”

“Or something like that,” Enjolras muttered, though he was still smiling. His smile faded slightly as he added, “But I hear you’ve been pretty successful of late, unlike me. We’ve…well, we’ve kind of traded places now, haven’t we? You’re the successful one, and I’m the slacker with no job, no life, no future.”

The words were a little bitter, and disparaging only at himself. Grantaire shook his head, taking a few steps forward as he said firmly, “You’re not a slacker. You’re  _not_.” Enjolras shook his head, and Grantaire said, “Look, you had a setback. But you can’t tell me you’re not as determined as before, even if you’re going to have to not be a fucking idiot in the future and avoid getting arrested. You still want to change the world, Enj. I wouldn’t still love you if you didn’t. You just have to start over. We all do at one point or another. I got divorced, for christ’s sake. I know about starting over. But you  _can_  do it.”

Enjolras just shook his head and started, “No, it’s more difficult than that. The  _wanting_  doesn’t always mean—” Suddenly, he broke off, something twisting in his expression. “Wait,  _what_?”

Grantaire frowned. “I said that you can do it, and you can, Enjolras, you—”

“No, not that,” Enjolras said, impatient. “Did you just say that you still loved me?”

Blushing slightly, Grantaire shrugged and looked down at the ground. “Oh. Um. Yeah. Yeah, I do. I mean, when it comes to you, I’ve pretty much always been a lost cause. And, yeah, I’ve done some stupid stuff — remind me to tell you about my marriage — but…It’s always been you, Enjolras. And it always will be.”

Enjolras just looked at him for a long moment, and then crossed to him, pulling him into a slow, heady kiss. “And it’s always been you,” he whispered, cupping Grantaire’s cheek. “I’ve never found anyone who can even hope to keep up with me the way that you were always able to. I’ve loved you…God, forever now, it seems like. And I’m sorry that it’s taken twenty years for me to tell you, but…I do.”

Grantaire laughed and kissed him back, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Well, we’ve always been a little slow, haven’t we?” he mused. “But we’ve got it now. And that’s what matters.” He leaned back just enough to meet Enjolras’s eyes squarely. “But I mean it — no more getting arrested. You’re still going to change the world, because I believe in you, but you’re not going to land yourself in jail for it. You’re too old for that shit.  _I’m_  too old for that shit.”

“Deal,” Enjolras said easily, kissing Grantaire again. “Absolutely, one hundred percent deal.” He pulled away, reaching down to take Grantaire’s hands in his. “And while we’re here, I had something that I wanted to ask you…”

* * *

 

Bahorel and Courfeyrac crept down the stairs, hoping none of their friends would notice their absence. Just as they got downstairs, though, Enjolras and Grantaire, who were standing in front of their friends, announced in unison, “We’re engaged!”

“What the  _actual_  fuck?” Courfeyrac said, loudly, though he was drowned out by the whoops and cheers of their friends, who piled forward to hug Enjolras and Grantaire. He glanced at Bahorel, who looked amused. “You think this is a bad idea, don’t you?”

Bahorel shrugged. “It’s Grantaire and Enjolras,” he said, as if that explained everything, and really, it did. He winked at Courfeyrac. “Looks like we’re down to the only single ones left.”

Courfeyrac shrugged as well, though he grinned. “Well, we can change that, if you want. What do you say about getting dinner sometime? Like, as a date?”

For a long moment, Bahorel just stared at Courfeyrac, then a slow grin spread across his face. “I’d like that,” he agreed. “And I’ll be sure to bring lube and condoms this time around.

“Excuse you, I do  _not_  put out on the first date,” Courfeyrac said, mock-offended, but he was grinning, and he wrapped an arm around Bahorel’s waist, turning to face their friends, who were still celebrating with Enjolras and Grantaire. “It’s been a long twenty years, hasn’t it?”

Bahorel nodded and kissed Courfeyrac’s temple. “Yeah, but I have a feeling the next twenty years are going to be amazing, though, so that makes the last twenty years worth it, don’t you think?”

Courfeyrac nodded as well, watching Enjolras bend down to kiss Grantaire. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so, too.”


End file.
